


Come to Me Now

by hydraxx, showmethelions (sightandsound3733)



Series: This is Why We Fight [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Identity Reveal, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 19:53:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13771350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydraxx/pseuds/hydraxx, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sightandsound3733/pseuds/showmethelions
Summary: Shiro's point of view for So Come to Me, Chapter 1





	Come to Me Now

“Are we sure about this?” Keith turns in his seat, his scowl cast in the red light of The Red Lion’s cockpit. “One of them attacked you, Shiro. Why should we trust them?” **  
**

“It wasn’t an attack,” Shiro tries to soothe, clasping a hand over Keith’s shoulder. He can see the tension in his frame even through the armor. “Tensions were high after the fight. Mistakes were made, that’s it.”

Keith scoffs, but he doesn’t argue as he gets to his feet. Shiro smiles, just a bit, because what else can he do? It wasn’t the weirdest moment he’s had after finishing a fight, and the rebel, however hostile they’d been, hadn’t actually hurt him. Something tells Shiro that they could have, and he knows they wanted to. He saw it in the way they held themself, how they only pulled back at the call from a teammate, he heard it in the growl of instructions that came distorted through the helmet’s speakers. 

 _Who are you?_  The viciousness in those three words made them stick fast in his mind.  _Who are you?!_

That kind of fierceness lives only in those it’s been beaten into, those the Galra have tried to keep down, crush and break.  _Do you know me?_  Shiro wanted to ask of this figure with prosthetic legs that match his arm.  _How? Do you know me?_

“They invited us here, Keith,” Shiro reminds him gently. “And I for one want to know who these guys are.”

“As do I,” Allura says, fixing her bun as she makes the choice to leave her helmet with the Red Lion before disembarking with Keith and Shiro close at her back. “We have heard murmurs of this Coalition before. They are clearly an organization with some reach. The fact that we have not heard more than murmurs is interesting.”

“I don’t have to like it,” Keith says, shaking his head.

“Me either!” Pidge’s voice comes in over the comms sharply. She and Hunk and Lance are just disembarking from the Yellow Lion now, and she makes a beeline right for them. “In fact, I hate this! There’s something really off about all this whole mess. For one thing, who the hell are these guys? Where did they come from and how do they have the numbers for a split strike attack like that on a Galra base? For another, they shouldn’t have been able to see my hack, let alone kick me out of it and I—!”

“Take a breath there, Pidge,” Lance tries to tease with forced lightness in his voice. “Going into this all wound up isn’t going to help anything.”

“You weren’t there!” she insists, turning to face him. “This guy snapped and went right for Shiro and pinned him and—”

The doors to the hangar open sharply and a figure storms in, dressed all in black, a sleek fitting combat flight suit. This is the same rebel from the base. Shiro knows that even without the dead giveaway of those metal legs, unmistakably Galra tech, unmistakably Haggar’s work.

They still wear the helmet that hides their face, but it does nothing to hide how angry they are. It’s seeping off of them in thick waves, broadcast as loud and clear as their footsteps through the hangar. Shiro keeps himself at Allura’s side, sticking close just in case this turns sour. He doesn’t need to look to know the others fall into formation around him without a verbal cue and he has to suppress a smile.

Allura stands straight and tall and it’s with a tense smile that she greets the rebel. “Hello. I am Princess Allura and these are the Paladins of Voltron. We were told your commanders would be here to greet us—”

“You’ll be dealing with me,” the rebel says, tense and terse. Their voice is distorted by the speaker again, but that sharpness is just as clear as it was when Shiro was pinned against the wall on base. Immediately Allura stiffens, visibly enough for the rebel to notice. The helmet tilts just to the side, reading condescending. “Is that a problem?”

“I would prefer to deal with the leaders of this operation,” Allura says with an even tighter smile. Shiro doesn’t reach for her shoulder like he wants to, all too aware that the gesture would weaken them in this standoff. “If you wouldn’t mind calling for them, or taking us to—”

The door opens once more and a smaller, slighter figure runs in. This one doesn’t have a helmet on, but they’re dressed in the same type of flight suit as the first rebel. When they speak it’s with a breathless concern. “Commander! Sir, the other Pillars—”

“Be easy, Martek,” the rebel—the Commander—orders, not looking away from Allura for a second as the smaller being falls into position at his shoulder. There’s a smirk in that voice now, smug and sharp mixing together, and a shiver trips down Shiro’s back. Who the hell are they dealing with? “You were saying, Princess?”

“Sir, the other Commanders,” Martek starts, silenced immediately a raised hand and a tilt of a head.

There’s a quiet exchange between the two of them, one that ends with Martek nodding and holding his place, and then the Commander’s attention is back on them again. “Like I said, you’ll be dealing with me. You wanted a Commander, and you’ve got one.”

Pidge huffs softly, one hand curling tight at her side, just above where her bayard forms. Shiro catches her eyes quickly and silently urges her to be calm before pulling off his helmet.

“Commander,” he starts, voice raised just enough to be heard clearly across the space. “We—”

He doesn’t get any farther than that as the blank face of the helmet whips the inch to the left it needs to look at him. “The only thing I want to hear out of you is answers,” the Commander snaps, vicious poison dripping from the words. “Who gave you the right to wear his face? Who are you?”

_What?_

“These are the Paladins of Voltron,” Allura says again, taking a step ahead of them all. She sets herself slightly in front of Shiro. He’s touched by the protective move, but at the same time he wishes she’d get behind him instead. “And you’re speaking to the Black Paladin, head of—”

“Believe it or not, I worked out the basics for myself. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re kind of color coded.”  Arms cross tight over the rebel’s chest, tensing ripcord muscles with the movement. They have pale skin, or at least it looks like they do under the dense collection of scars covering their exposed forearms. “And I most definitely wasn’t talking to you, Princess, I was talking to  _him_.” That venom is back again, spat at Shiro, and he doesn’t understand why it’s there or how something can sound so angry and hurt at the same time. “I want you to give me a fucking name, dammit.”

Shiro holds up a hand, an attempt to show peace, and Keith growls low in his chest at the movement. Shiro doesn’t need to look behind him to know that Hunk is the one who hisses for Keith to chill. “I don’t know who you think I am. And I’m sorry if I—”

“HOLT!”

Everything stops.

Shiro freezes as the bottom of his stomach drops out. Pidge’s breath catches audibly in his ear and her hands fall out of their fists, trembling at her sides instead, and the world goes out focus.

It’s like he’s watching a movie, witnessing a scene play out on a screen. The newcomer is smaller than the other two, feline looking in nature, and she quickly gets into it with the helmeted commander she called Holt. She’s joined soon after by two more aliens, tall and statuesque, who bring niceties and words of welcome. It’s all happening right in front of him but Shiro can’t quite make himself believe it, can’t take his eyes off the line of the Commander’s spine, can’t help but strain to hear a recognizable note in that distorted voice, to try and see past the helmet and catch a glimpse of eyes he sees in shadows, late at night, in his dreams. Eyes he hasn’t seen since he turned his back on them and walked into the arena oh so long ago.

“Wait,” Shiro croaks, only vaguely aware that he’s cut someone off in the midst of a conversation. His grip goes tight on his helmet, enough that he’d be wary of cracking the damn thing if he could care about that right now. But he can’t. He can’t care about anything but the fact that the Commander, the one who responded to Holt, is looking at him now, and he needs to know, needs to ask, “What is your name?”

“Oh, so now you’re gonna ask the questions?” the Commander drawls, and Shiro swallows back the hope that threatens to choke him. He used to sound like that, when he was done with the world, tired and frustrated and fronting arrogance to cover it up. He used to do that, he did…

Shiro shakes it off. He can’t get lost in his thoughts, can’t let them drag him away from this moment. “You asked for mine… right now I’m asking yours.” Shiro swallows hard and hopes his voice doesn’t break. “Please. Who are you?”

There’s a pause, a horrible, tortuous pause before the Commander answers. “I’m Commander Matthew Holt of the Intergalactic Coalition.”

All the air leaves Shiro’s lungs.

It’s him.

It’s Matt.

He’s alive.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading. You can find us at this-iswhywefight.tumblr.com, where we're always taking questions and requests.


End file.
